A Chance Encounter
by KeepMeFaceless
Summary: L x reader After having worked with L on a previous serial killer case and built a repertoire with L, Watari has called you for the Kira case. Keeping L focused, yet taken care of, what if he never had to die?


L x reader After having worked with L on a previous serial killer case and built a repertoire with L, Watari has called you for the Kira case. Keeping L focused, yet taken care of, what if he never had to die?

* * *

Honestly, the murderer could be anyone. You see countless faces in a day. All not amounting to much but a wallet. Your goal at the end of the day is to convince them you're worth their money. But also, as it stands, with the string of murders, your life. What do you bring to the table? The job of a dancer in general is dangerous. However, now there's someone targeting specifically sex workers. And with how many men who are regulars at club, or good with disguises, it's anyone's guess. The LABB murder cases proved that someone with the right intent to hide themselves could be anyone. For all we know, the regular in question was murdered and who we think they are currently is an imposter. Anyone can be anyone in today's day in(and?) Age. But you... you have been doing this long enough. The mannerisms of your clubs regulars, their voices, that ugly fucking mole on their face with that large hair... it defines them. You've worked at your club long enough to know who is who. Yet, someone good at disguises? That's a different story. There's lots of men with animosity, but some truly take it to the next level...

As the news has spread far and wide, you're on a constant guard. A drink is never purchased for you without your knowledge. Your keen eye watches as the bartender pours it and it travels from the bartenders hand, to your customers hand, to the table in front of you. You use your gut to decide, do I drink this? Or spill it on "accident"? Or to simply toss it over your shoulder into an incredibly fake plant or carpeted floor to keep yourself from being drugged. The bouncers can be of help, but that depends if you've been a good tipper from the get go. While you have been, it's best to play it safe. You decide to enjoy the drink as it stands. This is your man, Paul. He always pays your house fee and tips generously on stage. He's usually more focused on his video poker and cheap steak on Friday than anything else.

The vodka cran is cold, with very little cran and very much vodka, you nurse your drink to almost empty. It's a slow night, but there's potential. Your shift only started an hour and half ago. There's a new girl on stage, she's sweet but definitely a bambi. This job is going to eat her alive if the murderer doesnt do it first. Still, you support her. Giving her reassuring smiles and the occasional $1-2. Paul has already paid your house fee and your bills are set for the month. There's three weeks left and you have plenty in savings, helping out the new girl who you have a soft spot for for some reason wont harm any. And there's not many girls tonight, so she could really make it...

As you down the rest of your drink, your name it's called for rotation. Quite a few more bodies have shown up in the club.

_A__bout damn time... _ You think, as it approaches almost 10pm on a friday in the middle of bachelor season. While this may make things more dangerous with what has been going on, it may make your night more profitable. Your calculations arent 100% as it stands, but you feel it in your bones. The murderer is definitely someone who frequents your club. While no one you know too well has been murdered, your club is in too close of a vicinity. Perhaps he has a soft spot for here? Or maybe he is still scoping out the next victim. You pray the new girl has enough street smarts to keep herself safe.

You saunter on up to the stage, clicking your heels to the 4-4 beat as you arrive. Grabbing the rag and rubbing alcohol, you douse the former generously in the latter. The Bambi smells of Lovespell, but not in the way the perfume does, you can tell it is the lotion. Your mother used to wear it all the time, but at the end of the day, she was more of a Japanese Cherry Blossom and not a Lovespell. Still, the smell is ingrained into your memory and there's no way you could forget

it. You aggressively wipe down the pole at arm length. Newbie is shorter than you, which is no easy feat considering you stand at only 5'3" without heels and 5'11" with. 8" heels or nothing, shit dont click right. Either way, she isnt in your standard Pleasers or Ellie, they're probably from Forever21 or some brand she got on sale at TJMaxx. Baby strippers have to learn the ropes, but there's nothing wrong with making due when you're first starting. Perhaps you should give her your least favourite pair. She is probably your same size or close to considering most companies dont make shoes any smaller.

The song starts, it's one of your favourites. It's slow and calculated, much like you. There's plenty of hungry eyes on you and more flood into the club. You've built a good rapport with your DJ. His mother passed on the same day your grandma had a few years prior. Plus, he's a sucker for Depeche Mode which you asked him to play you once before. You can ask him to play anything and he will. Jared is a kind man with a weakness for drinking. You've used it to your advantage on more than one occasion to get out of paying house on a slow night. He probably knew, yet still bought you a shot at the end of your shift. You may have a small crush on him and he knows it, but neither of you have discussed it or engaged outside of a professional relationship. Dont shit where you eat...

A pirouette here, a graceful fall there, a little floor work before you bring yourself back up onto your feet. The song gets a little more aggressive and you feel the music. Climbing the pole, the beat will drop soon and you prepare your self for a drop into a jade split. As it hits, you feel the vodka and confidence kick in. While getting wasted on the job is not ideal, it can make for some very fun nights. You pull off your move effortlessly, thankful for all the hours you've put into training. You move your arms to both grip the pole and swivel into a chopper. At the bottom of the pole, you swing your legs into a few mesmerizing tik toks before flipping over into a single twerk and pushing yourself up. On your knees you grab the pole in a split grip and push your legs out. Using your top hand to anchor you and your bottom to push you around, you do a slight catwoman move around the pole to get your feet under you again. With your hips out, keeping your back arched, you guide your chest up to bring you into an upright position, it is then when the room stills and you lock eyes with a man you've never seen before.

A lot of these men you've never seen before. Could be tourists, could be just men trying a new club, none of it matters. What matters is the haunched man in the white t shirt and jeans, leaning against the bar as the bartender pours him a drink. He's different. His air is different. Most men fall into a specific category and an untrained eye would place him into one, but you can feel he is not the same. He's boring into you with the largest grey eyes you've ever seen. They look like pools of cloudy obsidian and he looks like perhaps he hasnt slept in years. Yet, they're keen and aware. It makes you falter, forgetting there's a small rift between the wood panelling of the floor. Your thin heel gets caught, but you take it in stride and pretend it is part of your dance. That's all this is anyway, a performance. You are the fantasy of a million different men every night, after all. A giggle and smile at however you make eye contact with first at the rack is all you need before you continue. The first song has ended for the most part and home boy Jared is transitioning to the second. It is not the one you asked for, but one Jared loves to see you freestyle to. It is a song most in the club recognize with a 4-4 beat, as are most. He is changing the atmosphere to adhere to the amount of folks in the club. Gotta keep it neutral yet lively, you wont be able to pick your "weird" music for a bit until he susses out the crowd. That is fine. You'll throw in a few splits and flying moves. One dollar bills really pour onto your stage and you try to focus on the men at your rack, but you cannot blink without seeing those striking grey eyes. You will have to approach that man when your done. As you priouette into the last 30 seconds of your song, you realize he is sitting at your rack. Several 5s lined up and he is sitting in the most unusual manner. You make it a point to approach him and spend the last 15 seconds engaging him. You look him in the eyes and smile as you extend your hand, "Hello, I am Niah." You say flirtatiously. He looks at

your hand before shyly or perhaps moreso, awkwardly, extending his own, "Hello. I am Ryuzaki."

Last modified: 2:27 AM


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